Grot Coat's 212th Fightin' Boyz!
by Lord Zong The Destroyer of Fun
Summary: The 212th is a distinguished regiment, famous for its extensive counter-ork actions. But the 212th was destroyed long ago. So just who is it carrying their banner and facing off against the Imperium's foes? This is the story of the Grot Coat's 212th Fightin' Boyz and how they serve the Big Boss on the Shiny Chair.
1. Da' Heros o' Da' Imperium

Lord General Gaius Altius watched as the 32nd Praetorian Regiment fell valiantly before enemy arms and with them his only chance for victory. He slammed a four-fingered fist against the observation post's railing, startling his aide and the throng of tactical advisors which followed him like the fetid scavengers they were. A deep sigh was the only outward acceptance the Lord General gave to his imminent demises. There was little else he could do in all honesty. With the orbital fleet all but destroyed retreat was not an option. Not that retreat would have been an option in any case for the Lord General. This was the latest in a long string of defeats and seemed preferable to perish here than live with the shame. He turned around to face the tactical officers and silently cursed them all. If only he'd had men with some real mettle to them with spine and gumption he may not be in this abysmal situation.

Just as the thought came to an end a young officer, a command vox caster clinging to his back, burst through the mob of cowardly staff. Delivering a crisp salute and greetings the man's bearing was infallible but as the words came tumbling so too did his façade.

"My Lord," he began eagerly, "We've picked up a signal emanating from the planet's third moon! They…" pausing for a moment a moment to catch his breath, he all but slung the rest of the words out, "They claim to be reinforcements!"

A pang of hope made the Lord General feel light on his feet before faithful suspicion did away with the fleeting emotion. Impossible. It was simply impossible for any relief to get to their front in time, let alone the enemy navy blockading the world! But… but there weren't any other options available and maybe, just maybe, the Emperor was working a miracle that would save the Lord General, his career and the men under his command.

"Do you have a direct line?"

"Of course, Lord General," he said handing over the speaking device.

Altius took a firm grip with his mangled hand and in his most authoritative tone spoke, "This is Lord General Gaius Altius, in charge of the forces tasked with reclaiming this world in the name of the Emperor. To whom am I speaking to?"

"Ello? Dis' thing on? Oi'! None of that!" came a voice in a horrendously guttural low gothic accent.

"I can hear you, state yo-"

"Are der' still things need killin' down der?"

The general staff began whispering amongst themselves as the conversation went on. Altius fumed for at the man's interruption before bringing his temper back into line. "Yes, the enemy is bearing down on all positions, we dearly need the reinforcements you claim to provide."

"Dat's all I needed ta' hear. We'z comin' down to da' left of yaz! No… da right? No. No definitely left! We'll be there in a couple o' minutes!" The voice became more muffled as the speaker moved away from the reception device. "Oi! Boyz! We'z got baddies ta' kill! Get us movin'! For da' Big Boss on Da Shiny Chair!"

"Da Shiny Chair!" rang out an equally uncouth chorus.

Altius looked up in confusion for a moment and was met with the sight of his aides all gawking at something above and behind him. As he followed their gazes Lord Altius' vison became filled with a brilliant radiance surrounding a flaming dreadnaught as it barreled down towards the enemy stronghold.

Men of mettle were here, and they weren't being subtle about it.


	2. Da' Ork N' His Coat

**Twenty Years Earlier**

The great desert of Phylum was scarred. The event would go down in the planet's history as the Great Scorching. The black glass stretched far beyond the horizon and even further still. Cities burnt, lives that shall never be known were lost. But it was the price the world had to pay to rid them of the ork horde that had descended upon their world and torn it asunder. The Great Scorching was hoped to have destroyed every last ork spore left. But it failed.

A single spore was spared by some cruel twist of the Emperor's mercy, hiding within the barrel of an overturned Leman Russ. The spore grew and festered and eventually spawned forth a sturdy ork. The first trial that befell the young ork was the monumental task of getting out of said barrel. He was too big to remain in the barrel, as comfortable as it may be and through gritted determination, powerful grunting and the cutting of his green skin against the damaged metal he forced his way into the open chamber within the tank.

The ork floundered for a moment and utterly destroyed two skeletons that had dared cross his path. After grabbing a hold and literally pulling himself up, the ork had his attention caught by one of the skeleton's garb. He liked the coat especially, fancy tassels and metal bits that gleamed in the light provided by a nearby hole. The color almost made him drool with its deep green.

After deeply admiring the cloth, he became immensely jealous. Why should this skeleton have such nice things when he had none! The injustice of it all! He would right this wrong the only way his instincts told him how! With incredible violence.

The battle began. At first the dead man held the high ground, using the environment to his advantage by cleverly remaining behind a dangling safety harness which quickly entangled the raging ork. But the ork had experience on his side! Throughout his life he'd killed at least two other skeletons and he knew their weakness. Ripping the harnesses away, the ork fell down against his foe and began thrashing violently. The dead man rattled as he was killed again.

Victorious, the ork had acquired his loot with only minor damage! He dawned the garb and even though he couldn't see himself he was certain that he was the most stylish ork for miles. And he was right. After two more skeletons were killed, the ork had a considerable haul of loot. A number of MREs, a new pair of pants, a hat, two laser rifles and a little booklet he'd pried out of the fingers of his shattered foes.

With a graceful PLOP he fell from the hole and successfully exited his birthplace. He was struck with awe as he stood and encountered the great glass road that cut through the sandy expanse. Following this awe came an almost crushing sense of despair.

Where's the fightin'? He thought, quite literally searching under rocks and wreckage for something to punch. He'd already beaten his first foes and was now left with nothing but… well, nothing!

After the search proved fruitless, he set out to find a fight. The Scorch was all he had to go on and promptly followed it, hoping it would lead him to something to punch. The trip was long. Minutes turned to hours, hours to days, days to weeks, weeks to months, months to years, years to centuries, centuries to millennia, millennia to EONS! Ok, so maybe it wasn't that long, but it certainly felts like it! Especially after he'd eaten all the MRE's he'd found on the first day of the first hour…

But the hunger didn't worry him as much as the inexplicable boredom of it all. The only thing he had to entertain himself with was the booklet he'd looted earlier. He liked the pictures inside showing guns and battles and all other neat things! But soon enough he'd looked at each and every picture more than an ork would look at anything without crushing it! He needed more. MORE. There were words, of course, but he couldn't read a single one. They all just kind of melded together into a big stew, and the thought of stew made him hungry again! But he wanted to be entertained and he knew the words were something that could relieve some of his boredom. So he tried to read, by shouting what he thought the letters looked like and threatening to eat the book if it didn't share its secrets with him. But most importantly he believed that he could do it. It didn't matter how difficult learning to read was, it just made his eventual victory all the better!

One day, as he threatened the cover with his usual relish, the letters began to unravel themselves and solidify before his very eyes. He roared out and thumped his chest in victory, causing a few of the metal dangly bits to jingle. He began to read, "Da… Da' Imperial Infan-tree-man's Upliftin' Primor?"


	3. Da' Honorable Furst Company

The young ork was enthralled with the knowledge given to him by the _Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer_. There were so many enemies to fight! Giant bugs, sneaky pointy-heads, stupid looking blue-men, even orks, and other weird things he couldn't even begin to comprehend! But there was another thing that caught his attention: The Emprah; A boss so big that he was waging the biggest WAAARGH in the whole galaxy without even having to get up from his fancy chair. Now that was the kind of boss the nameless ork could get behind.

"These Guardboyz sure 'ave it made!" he moaned in jealousy which quickly turned to bloodcurdling rage that caused him to absolutely devastate a nearby rock with his fist. Another enemy defeated! He was proud for a brief moment before his continuous lamentation picked back up. "Why won't ya' give me nuffin' ta' fight Emprah!" the ork screamed, lowering to his knees and raising his scratched fist up into the sky.

The Emperor must have heard the young ork's cry, for in that moment of despair a long cloud of dust entered into view. And it was heading right towards him! The ork cheered, "O' 'fank you Emprah! Oi'll not disappoint you!" and charged off in the direction of the cloud to meet it head on.

As he came closer he realized that is was a Leman Russ! Just like the one he was born in except for the fact that this one was moving! "Dey can do that?" he wondered aloud, still charging ahead. Nearing his target, the ork brandished his two lasguns and began firing wildly. In response the tank halted its advance and turned its turret to face its attacker.

"Oh boy, oh boy!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, more eager than he'd ever been in his entire two-and-a-half days of life! This was his moment, the time for great glory that would earn him favor in the eyes of the Big Boss on the Shiny Chair and allow him entry into the greatest WAAAAGH in the universe.

The Leman Russ however did not seem to share the ork's enthusiasm for war. This was made apparent when it promptly turned itself around and began a cowardly advance in the opposite direction.

"Wot?!" he cried out, both in confusion and dismay. "Oi! Get back 'ere! I only want ta' fight ya!"

But the tank wouldn't listen to reason. It continued its retreat at a speed the ork could not hope to catch up to. All seemed lost, but the Emperor in his benevolence delivered another blessing disguised as a landmine. The landmine itself was designed for infantry and thusly did little to no damage on the tank's thick armor. But the blast was enough to panic the cowardly crew within. They were caught between an ork and a minefield. Grinding to a halt the vehicle spun around multiple times, trying to find a path out. But it was already too late. The ork had closed the distance and was now pounding his fist against the hatch.

The pounding continued for another ten minutes and the vehicle had ceased its movement since. Soon enough however, the ork figured out that the hatch was unlocked the entire time and quickly lifted it up with a roar as he expected an immediate, brutal fight.

But instead of being met with fist, he was assaulted by a chorus of screams. Girly, girly screams. Gretchin filled the metal box and were all huddled in a corner, screaming. The loudest and most feminine of these wails came from another ork to which all the gretchin clung to. The attacker was unimpressed to say the least. These opponents weren't even as tough as the skeletons or the rock! He tried to think but the yelling mass below was too much to deal with, so he jumped down and addressed them with grace and civility that would assuredly settle their nerves.

"SHUUUUUUDDUUUUUUUUP!" he bellowed, his gaping maw a fountain of mucus and saliva.

They shut up. His masterful diplomacy had worked. But how would he follow it up?

"Listen 'ere! I'm da' boss now. You're gonna be takin' orders from me! And I'm gonna be takin' orders from da' BIGGEST BOSS. EVER. Da' Big Boss on da' Shiney Chair!"

One of the more courageous gretichin hiding behind the cowering ork yelled out, "Yer' a Grot!"

"Dat's Kap-tin Grot ta' youz!" he nodded, genuinely grateful to the gretchin for giving him a cool nickname so soon. They must really respect him, or so he thought. "Now! Things are gonna' be different now that you lot've joined my Reg-E-Mint! First off, no runnin' away!"

They moaned in protest, but a tactful snarl brought the troops back into line.

"Second! Err…" Grot didn't actually know anything past that fist bit but he had to keep face in front of the crew. "No slackin' off! Back ta' work! Get dis' box movin'!" The gretchin scattered, leaving the cowering ork behind who simply stared up at his new Kap-tin in bewilderment.

Grot swaggered over to the ork and began addressing interrogating the gretchin's former officer. "Oi! Why didn't you want ta' fight?!"

"I-I don't know!" he stammered, rubbing his hands against his protruding brow. "My 'ead just 'urts when I think about fightin' So… so I just don't fight!"

Grot stared at the other ork for a solid half-hour, attempting to comprehend the idea that someone just as green as him didn't WANT to fight. It just didn't make any sense. Finally, after much internal discussion the Kap-tin finally said, "Wot?"

"I don't wanna fight! I don't wanna think about fightin'!" the ork replied, grasping his throbbing head.

"What are you? Some kinda' weirdboy?" Grot taunted, but didn't give the weirdboy a chance to reply. He had a crew to inspect.

A quick survey of the tank's technical equipment resulted in a broken cup holder and a thorough understanding that Grot had no idea how anything worked. He eventually decided it may be best to ask one of his men what things did. "Oi! You der!" he said, pointing to one of the gretchin playing with levers.

"Me?!" the gretchin replied, hoping the brute meant someone else.

"Yes, you!" Grot said, simply grabbing the gretchin and holding him up and holding the squirming crewman before a device. "Wot's dis?!"

"Th-that's a talky box! Hummie voices kept comin' out of it so we turned it off!" he rattled off, using what little air was left in his lungs after the kap-tin had grabbed him.

"Hummie voices?" Grot mused, rubbing his massive chin with the gretchin's head. "How do ya' turn it on?"

"Knobs! Click the green button and play with the knobs!" he cried out as the officer shook him.

"Thank you, troopah!" Grot said, throwing him away. He looked at the green button. It was a rather pleasant shade of green and he enjoyed the clicking sound it made as he pushed it in. He did not, however like the loud static that came alive as he did so. He was just about to find and execute the gretchin who tricked him but remembered part two of the instructions just in time. Play with the knobs!

And so he did, he turned to and fro until eventually he heard it… A hummie voice!

"This is Corporal Hawkins of the *BZZZZT* PDF! We're currently pinned down by a *BZZZT* raiding party! Anyone nearby please, in the Emperor's name help us! *BZZZT* We're at the following coordinates: Aquilla-Delta-Phylum-Twelve. This message will repeat!"

"In da' Emprah's name…" Grot looked down and nodded before he began to laugh… and laugh. The gretchin crew became unsettled but dared not speak. "Ya' 'ere that Furst Company?! We got a fight ta' get to! For Da' Biggest Boss!"


	4. Da' Emprah's Light

In a small frontier town that didn't even grace the surface of most regional maps an intense battle was taking place. The clay structures offered little resistance to the streams of weapons fire that accompanied each ork assault. They were numerous, well-armed, and held an unyielding ferocity that the local inhabitants simply couldn't compete with. Despite their impending doom the town put up a valiant defense around the only building they had of any real worth, the hydro plant.

A mere ten PDF soldiers stood between the green horde and the plant filled to the brim with citizens. But in reality these men were more militia than soldier. After the town had formed its own PDF unit the local magistrate deemed it too costly to properly transport the meagre amount of troops and placed them on permanent guard duty. Meagerly armed with one lasgun, three autoguns and a number of horrendously outdated one-shot hunting rifles, it was clear that their survival thus far had been through some kind of divine intervention.

In the first assault the PDF had lost their sergeant along with half their number. Now everything rested with the young Corporal Hawkins. No one had expected to last the night after the squad leader's death, but with Hawkin's boundless encouragement the remaining men were rallied to fight. The most solid assistance came from Trooper Malkovich's marksmanship, which was the sole thing keeping the orks at bay. But after a particularly brutal assault, Malkovich had taken a piece of shrapnel to the chest thus taking the trooper and their best defense out of commission.

"Keep it up! They might not feel pain, but by the Emperor they still die like any other beast!" Hawkins shouted, popping up atop the compound wall along with two others and firing into a crowd of charging orks which promptly scattered.

Hawkins looked over as a nearby trooper cheered, Renly probably, rising out of cover to make various hand gestures that one wouldn't make in good company. A few nearby men laughed but were silenced as the Corporal shouted for Renly to get down. But it was too late. A deafening noise filled the air as a volley of fire smacked into the trooper, turning his vulgar gestures and the rest of him into a fine red mist.

The Corporal took cover and tried to spot the attacker. After another stream of fire poured into a pile of sandbags across the street he caught a glance of him. If the other orks were menacing, this one was downright terrifying. His massive frame was covered in salvaged armor and his face was covered in pox marks and a massive scar that ran from his lower cheek and seemed to cut straight into his protruding teeth. The thing's meaty fist held an emplacement bolter that sent a shiver down the defender's spine. They'd never seen such a weapon in their lives and now they were being torn apart by it.

It was the Nob, the leader of this raid. Hawkins knew that if they could somehow kill him the rest might lose heart and flee. But it was impossible! There was no way they had the firepower to take down a brute like that.

He was pulled away from his thoughts as someone shook his arm. Looking over he saw Trooper Keldin with a look of dread on his face. "Corporal! There's another vehicle coming our way!" Keldin said with a quick gesture towards a rising cloud of dust coming in from the west.

The Corporal cursed, they were already doomed as it was and the addition of even more orks just seemed far too cruel to believe. Taking the pair of binoculars from his belt he tried to get a glimpse of the oncoming enemy so he could at least know how deep their grave really was.

When a Leman Russ came into view Hawkins couldn't help but make an audible intake of air. Keldin took the gasp as a confirmation of the inevitable and with a melancholy tone asked what the Corporal saw.

"I see," Corporal Hawkins paused for a moment as the painted numbers became clear, "The 212th?" the words tumbled out in disbelief as Keldin's eyes opened wide with shock. The 212th? They were the heroic regiment that bravely defeated the Warboss Smigak the Crusher and ended the horrific WAAGH that had devastated Phylum. And now they were coming, like a legend riding out of the pages of history to come and save these valiant sons of the Imperium.

Tears began to well up in Hawkins eyes as he spoke with a sob, "The Emperor… the Emperor truly protects!"

MEANWHILE…

Grot stood proudly across from two gretchin and Blubber, the other ork named such due to his constant crying, sitting cross-legged while listening with awe as their Kap-tin told them of his mighty deeds. Pointing to a bit of metal pinned to his chest Grot boasted, "I got dis one when I single 'andedly crushed my rival for command n' his elite bodyguard!" The gretchin clapped but the weirdboy simply rubbed his forehead and grimaced. Grot continued, "Dis' one 'ere was from wh-"

"Err, Kap-tain!" the gretchin spotter looking out the cannon pipped up.

"WOT!? Can't ya' see oi'm tellin' a story 'ere!?" he shouted, slobber drenching the rude subordinate.

"U-uh! We'z here, boss! I can see the town!"

"Wot?! Why didn' ya' say so sooner! Is der any fightin'!" Grot said, eagerly sauntering over to the gun-viewing-port.

"Lots of firing! Some laser shots going off too. Plenty of battle going on," the gretchin almost seemed to whine at that last part.

Kap-tin Grot banged his fist against the roof of the cabin and started a relentless stream of orders/incoherent screaming that increased overall battle efficiency by at least 300%. With the destruction of several adobes the Leman Russ, quite literally, burst into town. Wheeling into the no-man's land between the hydro plant compound and raiding orks it ground to a halt.

The tank's dynamic arrival crushed four unlucky boyz and broke the raiding ork's moral. One raider shouted out as the route began, "Dey gotta tank! Run fer' it!" As the orks ran, a great cheer erupted from the defenders along with a few shots to further encourage their enemies retreat.

The only ork to stand his ground was the nob who shouted and grabbed any slugga boy that came near. "Stop runnin' ya gitz! Dey'z just hummies! Only difference now is dat dey got a metal box ta' die in!" With that, he swung his weapon around and started spraying the vehicle with reckless abandon.

A lucky round entered the cabin and bounced around, causing the crew inside to dance to avoid getting hit. One gretchin whose rhythm was not up to regiment standards was pulverized as the round smacked into him.

The crew was mortified, their moral was dropping fast. The gretchin were all wailing and the weird boy was huddled in the corner mumbling and blubbering, as his namesake would suggest. Grot had to rally the troops, but how could he do so in a delicate manner that the situation required?

"Stop lookin' like a gob and load a round inta' da cannon!" Grot shouted at a nearby trooper, covering him in saliva.

"We'z don't 'ave any ammo, Kap-tin!" the miserable creature whined, covering his head with a rag.

"Wot?!" Grot cried, "Why didn' ya tell me that sooner! RAAAGH! Fine den!" he shuffled over to the driver and jostled him around. "Just cuz we ain't got no ammo don't mean we'z outta this fight! Full speed ahead! Straight at 'em! Close enough for me ta' punch em with me fist!"

With Grot's inspired command the tank revved to life and in a mad dash barreled straight towards the nob who, in his eagerness to fire his gun, barely noticed as the Leman Russ rammed him. With a great THUNK the nob was splayed out across the vehicle's front. He tried to fire his weapon again but found it difficult as he discovered it no longer in his hands, but grinding beneath the tank treads.

The nob roared as he and the tank crashed through a great number of buildings. By the time they were done both machine and ork were covered in clothes and various bits of furniture. The slugga boyz that had routed earlier now gathered around, amazed at destructive spectacle of it all presented by the Leman Russ and their nob boss. Crashing through one last wall, the tank skid to a halt in an open courtyard filled with ammo crates and various ork vehicles. The orks gathered around and waited to see what was going to happen next.

When the hatch opened and a green coated ork squeezed himself out and stood victoriously on the barrel many of the gathered orks mumbled and whispered loudly to one another. Just what was going on?

Picking up a damaged chair, Grot sauntered over to the nob hanging off his tank and just as his opponent looked up at him, he smashed the piece of furniture against his chin and sent the nob out into the courtyard where he sprawled wildly. The raiding boyz couldn't help but woo and cheer, this was great entertainment worthy of the finest ork dramas.

"Wot do ya' fink yer doin'?!" the nob cried out as he stood up. "We wuz jus about ta' get dem hummies afore you ruined 'et!"

"Dat's wot ya' get when youz attack the Biggest Boss' boyz!" Grot yelled while turning and banging his fist against his chest so that all could see.

The nob squinted and growled. "Kinda' boss you got? A boss dat let's weak lil' hummies be his boyz?!" the nob turned and addressed the gathering, "Besides! Da' biggest boss around iz our boss! Warboss Kraka!" he pumped his fist and the assembly cheered for their leader.

Grot jumped down from the gun and started waddling around. "Iz dis wot yer boss calls a fight?!" he turned again, sprawling out his arms to gesture at the pitiably small town. "Cuz my boss' boyz are too busy fightin' da biggest, meanest, funnest ta' kill things in da' whole universe! While youz stuck 'ere, playin' around in da dirt!"

A mummer shot through the crowd of orks. Was it true? Could there be a bigger, better boss than Kraka? The thought of a bigger, better fight filled them with excitement and they started jumping and screaming. But the nob still wasn't convinced.

"I don't see no big boss! All I see is sum Grot in a Coat! Tell me, tell us all, wot doz yer boss 'ave dat Warboss Kraka don't!"

All eyes were on Grot who rubbed his chin and thought of an answer. After a solid five minutes of silence the answer finally came to him. "Da' Emprah's Light!"

As all this was going on, Blubber was feeling absolutely terrible. His stomach ached and his head felt like it was about to explode. Dragging himself over to the gun he looked out and watched the event unfold. His thoughts became strayed and disjointed, especially when the raider began shooting their guns and whooping madly. The only thing that came through was his Kap-tin's words. Over and over they repeated and through gritted determination he tried to repeat them.

"Da… Da… Empra-a-ah's…" he started to gag, he could feel something bubbling up into his mouth. But he had to say the last word. He had to complete it! "Li-g-g-g-h-t!" the word shot out… the word, an a powerful stream of green fire, bursting out of his mouth and out of the gun barrel. As the flames exited his mouth, blubber couldn't help but cry. His head, it didn't hurt any more. Was this the Big Boss on the Shiny Chair's protection his Kap-tain so often went on about? Blubber didn't know, but for once his head didn't hurt and that was good enough for him.

The flash was intense as the jet of rich, dark, green flame spewed forth, smacking into an ork vehicle, causing it to explode. The Leman Russ was barely withstanding the blast itself as it was pushed back and the gun started turning towards the sky, making an arch of fire shoot across the sky.

The warband coward for a moment as their vehicle exploded, but the fear quickly turned to rapture as the flames grew. More cheers started to fill the air as the boyz all chanted, "Da Biggest Boss! Da Emprah's Light! Da Biggest Boss!"

"They're retreating! The 212th pushed them back!" Corporal Hawkins said, followed by a joyous shout from his remaining men. He watched through his binoculars as the raiders ran off over a hill, followed close behind by the 212th Leman Russ that had saved their town. "T-they're not stopping!" he said with awe, "They're chasing down the miserable beast! Such resolve and courage… by the Emperor, they really are heroes."


	5. Da' Emprah's Loot

Warboss Kraka's army was the scourge of Phylum. Proof that the Scourging had failed to eliminate the ork threat. Guns, bullets, tanks and all other forms of dakka was plentiful for this great warband as the valiant Phylum Defense Force was slow to waver in the face of terrible loss. Kraka had so much loot that carrying it all was downright impossible. So, using his clever mind, a series of supply points were spread throughout the desert for his innumerous raiding parties. Far from the frontline, and well within Kraka's dominion was the main 'Shootin' Roller' depot, filled to the brim with captured Imperium vehicles.

Before this outpost its only guard wallowed in Phylum's sweltering heat, waving two rocks about and using a wide range of pitches and tones spoke to himself.

"But Warboss Kraka! I gotz ta' be on da' front line! I won't get no loot if ah'm not!" he said holding the smaller rock high and speaking in a very masculine manner.

As he brought forth the larger rock he raised his pitch considerably and spoke, "Oi' don't care! All da' loot iz mine! I iz stoopid and am not smart and… and like ta' eat sand! Youz stay at da' back Dreg and play wiff rocks!"

"I won't argue dat yer stoopid, but you know if I'z not there da' whole raid will fail! For I iz da' biggest and bestest hero ever!" Dreg said, raising the stone that represented him high into the sky in a heroic gesture.

The bigger rock in the other hand spoke, "Hah! Dat ain't true and you knowz it! You iz da' smallest and weakest ork der ever was! All youz can do is tinker wiff rollers!"

"Wot?!" Dreg said, not playfully but with real, honest indignity.

"Dat's right. Youz so weak ya' own warband left ya' behind! Yer lucky I left you behind ta' guard my shootin' rollers instead of just smashin' ya 'ead in!" Kraka Rock said with a vicious snarl.

"Not if I smash you first!" Dreg bellowed, dropping his stone and bringing down a fist upon the minimalist representation of Kraka. A fierce battle ensued with Dreg swinging both fist and really giving his all. The rock played the long-game, allowing the ork to tire himself out before making its ingenious final move which is to say no movement at all. Frustrated, Dreg picked the rock up with bloody hands and tossed it as far as he could, which isn't very far as it landed only a few meters away. Turning around so he didn't have to look at the rock, Dreg accidently avoided the sight of a Lemun Russ rising atop a nearby bluff.

Meanwhile…

Grot Coat cupped his hands in a mockery of binoculars and nodded intensely as he observed. He put the fistoculars down and turned to his new nob second-in-command Lieutenant Clobber. "Well Lew-Ten-Itz, you waz roight! Dat certainly iz a lot of," Grot paused to take up the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer which now hung about his neck like a medallion and flipped through it, "Req-We-Zition. Da' Biggest Boss will be pleased."

"Kill da one boy guardin' it and we got it made! Kraka might be cunnin' but he ain't clever!" Clobber said, crossing his massive arms and grinning.

Grot was nodding in agreement as Blubber shook his big fat, puffy eyed face. "Do we really gotta kill em? It ain't much'uva fight n' we need boyz."

The two officers had to admit that Blubber was right. This wasn't a fight, not even in the most extreme of circumstances. The scrawny ork wouldn't stand a chance against even Blubber!

"Yer roight. 'asides, da' Emprah always has need for more cannon fodder. Blubber get a few Gretchin together. I 'ave a plan."

"A clever plan?" Clobber said while picking his damaged teeth with an axe.

"Da cleverest."

MEANWHILE…

Dreg was taken aback as a Leman Russ rushed towards him, kicking up an abhorrent amount of sand. Planted atop the tank was an ork wearing a dark green coat affixed with tassels and gleaming medals. He was yelling out, thrusting his arms up and down.

"Another raid boy," Dreg sighed as the tank came skidding to a halt just before him.

"Never seen anythin' like dis' 'ave ya!" Grot Coat shouted and slapped the cannon.

Dreg looked up at Grot and then over to the depot filled with tanks. "No." he stated dryly.

Grot shined one of his medals with a fist. "Well dat'z cause ya' don't know where ta' look!" He pointed out into the wasteland. "See?"

Dreg furrowed his brow and looked into the nothingness. "Oi' don't see nuffin!"

"Dat's cause ya' ain't lookin' hard enough! Look 'arder!"

Dreg didn't know why, but he wanted to see whatever the strange raider was talking about. So with great resolve he concentrated on the empty land and waited for something to materialize. He stared with such intent that he didn't notice Blubber and a group of gretchin climb out of the tank.

"Urgh! Der ain't nuffin' there!" Dreg cried, looking back around. His sudden change of direction caused Blubber and his group to dive for cover, which they found in a convenient ditch full of what, was most likely a simple latrine nearby. "Why'z you even 'ere? Ya' droppin' off da shootah or pickin' up ammo?"

"I… Err," Grot had hoped the guard would stare longer at nothing. "Need," he spotted Blubber's sludge covered face peak up from the latrine and immediately made a gesture for him to move, "ammo for my tank?"

Dreg raised a brow at the sudden gesture but kept his gaze fixed on the ork. "Roight… What kind ya' need?"

"There's more than one?" Grot asked, genuinely curious. He meanwhile made a flurry of overt gestures at the sneaking group behind dreg who didn't really understand what he was trying to tell them. At one point he simply pointed at them and then towards the guard.

"Wot'z wiff all the gestures?" Dreg finally asked as they became too much to ignore.

"They ain't for you! Stop lookin' at em!" Grot shouted at the guard and continued to flail wildly.

"Oh. Sorry," Dreg said and started to explain the different kinds of ammo to Grot. All the while, Blubber and his Gretchin shuffled closer. Eventually they came right up to Dreg's back and… just stood there. Grot's plan had been pretty vague and all they knew was that they were supposed to sneak up and 'follow Grot's lead.' So they waited for Grot to lead them.

Grot sighed as the team stared blankly at him. He made a gesture which went entirely over their heads and he rubbed his face before shouting, "Put 'em in da sack!"

"Wot?" Dreg asked as the sack consumed him.

"Roight." Grot said, signaling Clobber to come down. "Blubber begin the conversion."

Blubber and his gretchin pulled bones, sticks and other conversion devices and started hitting the sack repeatedly while asking, "Do you believe in da' Emprah yet?!" to which the sack would reply painfully "Who?! What!?"

Leaving the conversion to the professionals, Grot entered the depot with Clobber and the other troops and started taking inventory.

"We gotz some tanks, a few more smaller tanks, enough guns, and somewhere between a lot and too many tank bullets." Clobber reported after a time. "We'z also got a big ol' heap of hummie soldier clothes. Dey've been usin' em as rags n' such."

"Egg-Cell-Lent. Get da boyz outfitted and ready ta' go! Da' Big Boss on Da Shiny Chair is waitin' for us ta' join em. N' if we don't 'urry all the fightin' will be over before we get there!"


	6. Da' Invitation

A vast sea of ivory towers staunchly stood against the monotonous desert below. Embellished with deep purple dyes the city's structures gave off an aura of pride and wealth. This was the world's largest city with a population of millions who enjoyed the highest living standards possible upon such a desolate planet. It was also home to the Electorate Council, Phylum's legislature who, of course, served in the Emperor's glorious name.

Gazing down from one of the more needle-like structures Prime Magistrate Amadeus watched the plebeians busily prepare for the upcoming Liberation Ceremony, sipping upon a tall glass of ambrosia. He thought they all seemed so small and insignificant from up here, of course in his mind they literally were insignificantly small. He smiled as the door to his office was assaulted by a series of pitiable taps.

"Come in," Amadeus said as he ventured towards his ornate desk and took a seat.

His secretary, a mouse of a man with wispy brown hair and a nose more suited to the face of a gretchin than that of a man shuffled in carrying an armful of paper. "Prime. I have hunted down every scrap of information regarding your earlier inquiries," he chattered, quite pleased with himself as he strode forth and placed the reports on the desk.

"Good, it'll be fine to put this to rest once and for all." He looked at the stack of reports, it was alarmingly thick and would take Amadeus the majority of the evening to read through it all. However, knowing his secretary the little weasel had most likely already read through them without his permission. "Give me the summary before I begin reading into the finer details."

"Of course, my Prime," the secretary bobbed his head up and down. "Ever since the report by Corporal, err, Sergeant now I suppose, there have been a number of similar incidents popping up throughout the Western Wastes. Ork warbands and supply depots have been vanishing. No PDF regiments have taken this credit and several reports mention the 212th Regiment by name."

"What nonsense," The magistrate shook his head and took another long gulp from his glass, "The dead do not simply rise up and start killing orks. This is clearly some scheme by one of the Electorates."

"It would seem so, my Prime, as Elector Karl has openly invited the 212th to be his personal guest for the Liberation Ceremony."

"Hah, I knew it. What drivel, does he really think any of the other Electors are so foolish to be drawn in by such an obvious stunt?" Amadeus licked his lips and sank back into his chair, chortling a bit at how silly it all seemed.

"Perhaps not, but the plebeians seem quite excited at the prospect. The reincarnation of the 212th is on everyone's lips. The heroes of Phylum returning at such an opportune time? Many are saying it's a miracle and worse, one of the shrines in the lower district has openly stated that this is an act of the Emperor's divinity."

The Prime magistrate's eyes widened and he leaned forward. Minor shine or not a clear statement like that would spread like plague and rile up the masses to no end. Elector Karl was playing a dangerous game, but the Prime Magistrate wasn't about to give up so easily.

"Summon Colonel Bell," Amadeus finally said after a long pause, "It is high-time we return these dead men to their graves."

MEANWHILE…

Sore from his conversion, apostle Dreg was sitting on the back of a Leman Russ, furiously gesturing with two sticks one short like him and the other he'd dyed green by cleverly rubbing it under his armpit until enough skin melded with it.

"You get'z ta be our radio boy fer now, Dreg! A great honor you'z get ta' be da' first ta' hear the Emprah's command! I'm so jealous!" he said, waving the mockery of Grot Coat about.

"Yes, yes, I iz da' best but oi' should really be on da' front ta' inspire da' rest o' da boyz!" Dreg gave his model a considerably noble sounding voice.

"But you'z so tiny." Grot said from Dreg's clenched fist which suddenly became tighter.

"Wot?!"

"And yer legz is broken from da' recruitment."

"You think jus' cauz oi can't move me legz oi can't run n' fight!" Dreg said incredulously.

"Yes," spoke Grot Coat's proxy in a matter of fact ton which really rubbed the small ork the wrong way. Dreg was just about to snap the rude twig in half when the vox, upon which he sat, began to buzz wildly.

"Hello? Is anyone using this frequency?" came a voice from the metal box.

Dreg looked around in confusion. He was sure that nobody would actually call. This had all been another means to keep him away from anything exciting… or had it? He crawled closer and pressed the big button and spoke, "Emprah?"

"A-ah! Is this by, uh, by any chance the 212th Regiment?" the voice took on a slightly awed tone which was a bit strange for the Emperor to speak in such a way but it made Dreg feel good so he let it slide.

"Err. Hold on," Dreg yelled, leaning over the vehicle's edge to look at the tank's side which, sure enough, had the numbers 2-1-2 painted along its flank. He returned and answered, "Yes?"

"I-it's an honor, sir!" the voice said, Dreg was flattered and promptly blushed. "Your Regiment is hereby invited to…"


	7. Da' Warning Shot

Grot Coat appeared confident, back straight and eyes ahead, as he sat atop his command vehicle as it surged across the desert, watching as his regiment headed towards some glorious celebration with him at its center. Held within his massive fist was a small porcelain cup he liberated after raiding one of Warboss Kraka's depots. He sipped idly and held his head aloft as Lieutenant Clobber's APC rolled within yelling distance of the Captain's tank. Clobber was a vital part of the 212th due to him being the most diligent in his duties. Even the Captain would become distracted from time-to-time but the lieutenant would do perform his duties to his new Emperor and boss most admirably. He had clearly come to inform the Captain of something important, as he rarely spoke otherwise, but he found himself unable to remain on track as the visage of Grot Coat assaulted him.

"Wot are you doin'?" Clobber screamed after an extended pause through the billowing sand produced by their treads.

Grot looked over with his lips still resting on the lip of the cup which he promptly lowered as he spoke, "Oi' am putting on da' 'air o' leisure' required of a senior off-e-sir."

"Why?!" Clobber shouted once again, covering the side of his face to deflect incoming sand.

Grot pointed towards the Uplifting Primer he'd transformed into a necklace. "It says dat a good off-e-sir must reassure 'is boyz with acts o' regularity and decorum! Such as drinkin' tea!" he said with apparent wisdom and intelligence as he held the cup higher.

"Tea?" Clobber shouted out squinting in confusion. "Where'd you get tea!? We ain't got no tea!"

In response Captain Grot took a long sip of nothing while staring directly into Clobber's dust covered face.

"Err. Whatever!" Clobber spoke again as he rubbed his forehead. "Our scoutin' boyz radioed in! We got lotza' movin' in dat direction!" he pointed to the east, allowing a generous helping of dirt to slam into his eyes. "Argh!" he cried out and started rubbing his face furiously.

Grot Coat knocked on the side of the tank which promptly produced a gretchin who was immediately given the crucial task of guarding the Captain's teacup with his miserable life. Facing east the Captain brought up his fist-noculars to look through. Sure enough he could see a great trail of dust rising out of the desert and heading straight towards them. However one thing irked him. These weren't the regular armaments used by Warboss Kraka but clean, smart looking Leman Russ tanks.

"No need ta' worry Clobber! Dey're Imperial re-in-force-mints. Friendly as ya' can get!" As if on cue a strange whistling noise pierced the air. After a moment a huge explosion went off a few yards in front of the armor column, causing a few APCs to swerve wildly.

"Are ya sure, Boss?" Clobber said dryly.

"Hmm. Maybe not," Grot said genuinely, rubbing his massive chin. "We may be dealin' wiff the Hairy-ticks. But we 'ave to be sure. Gather up as many boyz as ya' can get, Clobber! Oi've got a plan…"

MEANWHILE…

Colonel Bell was far too grizzled in his appearance for such a young man. He'd gained quite the reputation for his ruthless efficiency in the suppression of revolts but even his enemies had to agree that he was fair. Bell had just demonstrated his fairness with a well-placed warning shot. He expected and prepared for an immediate counter-barrage but was caught off-guard as the opposing armor column turned west and vanished behind a dune.

"Hardly what I expected from the illustrious 212th," he commented to his nearby aide, "though it really isn't fair to hold imposters to the expectations of heroes."

His aide nodded in response and spoke up, "Shall we pursue them, Colonel?"

"Of course. Though we shan't walk into this like grox. We must be prepared for a ploy of some kind. These vigilantes have been fighting orks for some time. They must've acquired some tactical sense. Inform the 3rd to flank wide to the right as the main body pushes forward."

It didn't take long for the Colonel's men to mobilize as they were one of, if not the, most veteran PDF units on Phylum. Bell's men arrived at the top of the dune and were met by the sight of the fake 212th armor opposing them downhill in a position of strategic suicide.

Bell frowned. Was this really the crucial matter the Prime Magistrate himself ordered him to attend to? This wasn't even easy. It was downright embarrassing. "Get them on the vox. Let's see if we can get them to surrender." Bell was clearly dejected as he felt his career had hit a new low.

After a moment of searching through vox channels the aide was finally met with a guttural low-gothic voice, "Emprah?"

"Err… Is this the self-proclaimed 212th?" the aide asked.

"Oh, I remember this one!" Dreg exclaimed proudly, "Yep that's us!"

Bell reached over and was handed the speaking device. "This is Colonel Bell of the Phylum Planetary Defense Force. Surrender now and you will be spared."

"Err.. 'old on. Let me get my supervisor." Sounds of movement and clanking could be heard as Dreg got to Captain Grot. "It's for you."

"'Ello?" Grot Coat answered. Colonel Bell repeated his spiel about surrendering which he responded to with, "Who sent you?"

"The Prime Magistrate Amadeus of the Glori-"

"Is he a hairy-tick?" Grot interrupted.

"What?"

"Oi don't even know who dat' is. So I gotta assume he's a hairy-tick."

"Enough of this. Surrender now." Bell spoke plainly, growing tired of the low-gothic speaker's games.

"Eee… yeah. No thanks." Grot answered kindly.

"Very well, you've already received your warning shot. Prepare to fight." Bell responded solemnly.

"Foight! All-right! 'old on. Let me get my own warnin' shot ready!" Yelling ensued as Grot's gretchin crew prepared a warning shot. A moment later a round promptly smacked into one of Bell's APCs and exploded. "You miserable lout! Ya' missed! How do ya' miss not hittin' anything!"

Bell gave the order to open fire and his tanks began raining doom down upon the 212th. However Bell had failed to notice something rather strange about the hill his unit was situated upon. It was very bumpy. As the vehicles were firing he took notice of one such bump and squinted. But it was too late…

The hill exploded into orks.

Like an angry swarm of insects they appeared. There were few things that could compete with an ork in close-combat and this was made apparent by their rampant destruction of his unit Bell was speechless as his confused flanking force was fired upon by his own tanks, now captured by these strange orks… in uniform?

Snapping out of it, Bell was able to pull out his laspistol and fire upon a trio of charging orks. They were delayed but Bell was forced to retreat to the interior of his APC. The orks bashed on the hatch and would be in at any moment. Bell scrambled to the radio and sent a panicked message back to the capital just as the orks burst through the hatch.

"Argh! They're beast! Orks in Guardsman uniforms! Raaagh!"


	8. Da' Dark Lord

Cathedrals dotted the landscape of Phylum's beautiful ivory cities. These bastions of faith held the Emperor's light within them and were a place of respite and mercy in a universe so full of horrors. But one, the greatest of all Phylum's halls of worship, located in the center of the capital was a mere husk of what it was supposed to be for it is here that the desperate masses seeking the Emperor's guidance are preyed upon…

-Deep Bellow Saint Lora's Cathedral-

-Glory's Sanctum-

Lord Qu'aio lounged victorious, arrogantly spread out upon his throne of despoiled tools of faith. Dangling ever so helplessly above a pit of melted gold and flesh was the foolish creature that had confounded his plots. Qu'aio savored the moment as his foe remained unconscious. The iron chain suspending the would-be-hero was attached to a reaver engine. Qu'aio could wait no longer, he craved that delicious ecstasy of seeing a nemesis reduced to a crying mess of pain and misery. He raised a hand, signaling his overly spikey minions to deliver an excruciating shock.

Grot Coat cursed as he was rudely awoken with a jolt of plasma-born electricity. His flesh tingled and his tongue tasted numb. He hated the taste of numb and as such immediately attempted to flee from it. His swinging legs caused him to begin spinning listlessly and roused a hearty, masculine, yet underlining feminine laugh from a crowd of try-hard black metal enthusiast.

"Wo… Wot? Where am 'oi?" Grot groggily questioned as he looked down into the boiling pit of metal and meat below. "Ooo. Dat smells nice, somethin' fierce."

"Ohohohoho~! You are exactly where I've always wanted you to be!" Lord Qu'aio boasted, "I have capture you. Soon the Mon'keigh of this world sha-"

"Who's you?" Grot asked innocently as his still kicking legs turned him the other direction.

"Soon be," Qu'aio paused for a moment. "Excuse me?"

Grot Coat sighed at the rude pointy man's lack of listening skills. "Ooo. Iz. Youz," he said in a slow, methodical manner so the squig-head could understand.

Qu'aio huffed with a great frown. How dare this inferior creature make light of him. A lesson must be made! "Perhaps THIS will remind you!" he flicked his wrist and the reaver engine roared, sending yet another jolt along the chain.

The orky hero convulsed as he took the brunt of Qu'aio's sinister wrath. Once again their dainty laughs echoed through the hallowed halls.

"Nope," Grot let out with a sigh as the shock ceased, "No 'elp at all. Oi still don' know who youz iz!" He began running from the numb taste again.

After several more shocks and similar stupefied responses Qu'aio asked, "Are you serious?"

"Nope, 'oi'm Grot Coat. Kaptin, Grot Coat!"

"Lord Qu'aio."

"Who?"

"LORD QU'AIO! Master of the Sinking Blade?! Lord of the Wailing Vail of Commorragh?" The Dark Eldar looked desperately for a sign of recognition but none was to be found. "YOU'VE BEEN FOILING MY SCHEMES FOR THE PAST YEAR?!"

"Oi 'ave?" Grot Coat cocked an eyebrow, "Oi' fink dat oi'd 'member somethin' like dat! No way oi could 'ave some big grand adventure stopin' some dark, pointy boy without rememberin' it!"

Qu'aio shuddered in rage. If this was a game he couldn't find the joy in it. But if the ork truly couldn't remember anything what possible joy could he gain from revenge! He HAD to remind him!

"The battle in the Ivory Wards?" Grot shook his head no and received another painful jolt for it. "Ruination of the Cage Master's vessel?!" another negative gesture, another shock. "Wh-what about the destruction of the Bliss supply! You have to recall that!"

Grot Coat looked around before nodding his head in affirmation. "Ooo. Ya! Da boomin' o' da Bliss soup-ply! 'Course oi 'member dat!"

Lord Qu'aio breathed out a sigh of relief. "Oh really?" he asked, more out of arrogant habit than genuine curiosity.

The ork gave an exasperated groan at the question. "No! Oi' just wanted ta' stop yer yappin n' yer zappin! Oi've no idea who you is!"

Qu'aio placed his face between his hands and rubbed his tired face. "No matter!" he shouted, standing from his lounge. "Know this, ork! I have finally bested you! No longer shall you delay the implementation of my glorious plan! Soon this world shall cry out in delicious agony as its inhabitants are torn asunder!"

"Oie! Youz can't do dat! Dis wurld belongs to da' Big Boss on Da Shiny Chair!" Grot screamed defiantly.

"AHAHA! There is nothing you can do! You are at my sublime leisure! You are helpless!"

Grot Coat smirked and let out a defiant laugh. "Dat' may be true! Ol' Grot Coat moight be 'elpless ta' stop ya! But youz didn't account on one fing! ME BOYZ!" Grot screamed as he dramatically kicked one of his dangling feet towards the room's corner door.

Qu'aio and all of his servants focused their attention upon the door, weapons raised.

The door suddenly and without warning… did nothing.

Grot coughed and spoke up. "Whoops. Musta' been da wrong door. Wun second." He flailed for a moment before he faced the main door leading to the sanctum. With another kick he exclaimed, "ME BOYZ!"

-MEANWHILE FAR AWAY WITHIN THE GREAT SCORCHED DESERT-

Dreg was playing with his vast collection of sticks as he watched the rest of the boys play a traditional game of 'Steal da' Boot' wherein the winner would get a delicious boot to eat. Clobber ambled up to Dreg and kicked over his vast collection he would've protested, but Clobber was much bigger and had much shinier buttons.

"You see da' Boss round 'ere" Clopper growled at the scrawny ork.

Dreg just shrugged and went back to playing an intense game of pretend.

-BACK IN THE SANCTUM-

"ME BOYZ!" Grot yelled for the twelfth time at the same door.

"Stop. Just," Qu'aio sighed deeply, "stop."

"No!" Grot kicked at the door again, "ME BOYZ!"

The dark lord shook his head and with a voice lacking in enthusiasm ordered his minion at the control panel, "Just… Just lower him into the cauldron." He plopped himself back down onto his longue and watched as Grot Coat kept kicking and screaming at doors.

"ME… BO-"

All of the doors suddenly exploded. Pouring through were Inquisitorial storm troopers of the Ordo Xenos. Lasbolts flew as plasma rounds retorted between the holy forces and the depraved perverts struggled.

"NO!" Lord Qu'aio screamed, "I was distracted! ARGH! CURSE YOU GROT COAT! I'LL KILL YOU!" The lord pulled out his personal blaster and fired at the chain holding the ork officer. The chain did not last long under his concentrated fire and soon snapped, sending the ork plummeting to the foul mixture below.

However, before the ork could meet his soupy doom a Krak grenade plummeted faster from the hands of a slain trooper. It exploded, knocking the great cauldron over and causing the falling ork to smack onto its scalding side. He cried out in pain as he rolled along it and into a large hole that led to a plummeting ventilation shaft in which he tumbled.

"ARGH! NO! NO! NO! YOU MISERABLE CREATURE! I'LL GET YOU YET GROT COAT! YOUR TIME WILL COME!"

-MUCH LATER-

Grot Coat wandered into the 212th encampment just outside of the capital covered in bruises, cuts, burns and sludge. After a time his second in command, Clobber found him and promptly questioned his boss. "Where've youz been?"

Grot looked around for a moment before shrugging: "No idea."


End file.
